


Starvling

by Haumeia (Empatheia)



Category: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Anal Sex, Awkward Sexual Situations, Biting, Bukkake, Dirty Talk, Dream Sex, F/M, Humiliation, Maledom/Femsub, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Frustration, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 08:39:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12055314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Empatheia/pseuds/Haumeia
Summary: She keeps having prurient dreams about someone who's dead, and waking up with a craving that can therefore never be answered. All she can hope to do is take the edge off, with a little help from a friend.





	Starvling

**Author's Note:**

> More 750words entries. Several of them, this time. I wrote this during a bad PGAD flareup when my brain was basically stuck on the porn channel 24/7 for more than a week. Accordingly, it's heavier on kinks I enjoy than on story-accurate characterization. So sue me. (Or... don't, I can't actually afford to defend myself.)

Her dreams won't leave her alone.

Tifa rolls over onto her back and stares up at the wild sky, at the stars glaring through the gaps in the clouds. There's no moon tonight. Without it, the darkness seems somehow grey and opaque.

It's stupid. It's been months, and she's had a dozen more interesting experiences since. She should be dreaming about them. Or about her friends. Or about Aerith. Something relevant to her, at least.

Instead, she's still dreaming about him.

Aerith's church, the clean and delicate scent of lilies hanging in the sun-graced air. The creaking of those old familiar floorboards under black leather boots. Grey hair and white snarling teeth and eyes as green as the heart of life.

The dreams are visceral, wordless and bright as pain. She kicks him to the floor so hard the dilapidated boards groan and splinter in protest. He catches her ankle mid-flight and hurls her into the wall, and grins like a jackal through the storm of disturbed petals when she sticks the horizontal landing.

Dreams weren't supposed to come with things like scents and pain and awareness, but hers always have. She always knows when she's dreaming, but that doesn't mean she can wake up, even when she wants to.

She doesn't, really. Not from this. It's awful and twisted and ugly but some part of her wants to be here enough to reconstruct it over again every other night. Every shameful little detail.

Near the end, the dream changes. It stops being a play-by-play of what she remembers and becomes something... else.

She has him up against the wall, forearm across his throat, every other part of her ready to deal with any counterattacks. With one move, she could crush his windpipe, doom him to die gasping for a last breath he'd never catch. She could shatter his lower ribs and let the razor-sharp shards slice up his innards for her. She could break his neck, give him the clean death he probably deserved.

There were a dozen ways she could kill him right now, and she could tell that he knew it, but that grin was spreading across his face again even so. He seemed more exhilarated than afraid, invigorated by the proximity of the end.

She faltered.

In a twinkling, he reversed their positions, but he didn't put an arm across her throat or threaten her life in any other way. He just leaned against her, pressing her into the wall with the full length of his body, and put his face near her ear. He didn't say anything. She heard him inhale with exaggerated pleasure, taking in the scent of her hair, her soap, her sweat.

He smelled like sweat, too, and new leather, and something green and vicious. She couldn't help herself. She turned her face until they were nose to nose, eye to eye.

A soft, voiceless sound ground through her throat.

He let out a soft, derisive huff of laughter, and tilted his head to bring his mouth against the damp wall of her throat.

Her hands were free. She brought them up, meaning to push him away, and brushed them over his sides instead, feeling her way up his torso to his shoulders. Her hips, despite her best efforts, rolled slightly against him.

In response, he slid his hands down her back to her behind and pulled her hard against him, his own hips answering her initial foray in a much louder voice. He still hadn't said a word, but she could hear all the things he might say if he decided to start now. Mocking, cruel, hungry. She bit her lip, then chewed on it.

Even through the restrictive sheath of leather, she could feel him, hard and hot against her lower belly every time he rolled against her. A flush climbed up her chest, heat swamping her from the inside out.

He pulled her lip out of her teeth with his own, then thrust his tongue past them into her mouth, curling against the backs of her top teeth so that she could only lick the underside of it. He grunted in a pleased fashion and deepened it, seizing her hair in a fist so he could slant her face more steeply beneath his. She opened up and let him in as deeply as he felt like coming.

With his other hand, she felt him fumbling impatiently at her skirt. She pushed it aside a little and did it herself. She liked this skirt, and he was moments away from destroying it if it didn't give. It slithered down her legs, aided by its own thick leathery weight. Without preamble, he pressed his hand against the junction of her thighs, sliding his fingers under and between, straining the finer fabric of her underthings.

She explored the catches and fastenings of his own considerably more complicated outfit, unravelled it with a few deft motions, and set about peeling him out of it. He was a degree paler yet underneath it, somehow, and his skin was clean and smooth with artificial, alien youth. She leaned in and pressed her mouth to his clavicle, tasting it and finding that same sharp green scent, headier on her tongue than it had been in her nose.

His hand pressed more insistently, thumb and pinky slipping around the edges of the fabric to get a grip and pull her underthings down. She was bare to him. Standing in a church, surrounded by ruin and sunlight, shaking with need.

Grinning again, fiercely, he slipped his hands under her thighs and lifted her without apparent effort until he and the wall were all that kept her upright.

His rough, ungentle fingers rubbed fitfully at her entrance for a moment, spreading the slickness around, then pushed in, testing the waters.

Apparently he found them amenable. Withdrawing his fingers, he replaced them with his cock in the span of seconds, driving himself up into her as far as she could accommodate him.

She whimpered and let her head fall back against the wall, muscles twitching with the effort of restraining herself, maintaining some semblance of dignity.

He didn't intend to let her keep it.

Grunting, he thrust again, just as hard, then began to beat a merciless rhythm into her. The sounds it made would have been obscene anywhere, but they seemed triply so here, in a place that should have been a sanctuary. She writhed and rode him as hard as she could with what little leverage he'd left her. Pulling back was painful. Driving herself back down was sweet agony.

He put his mouth to her neck again, then bit her hard where her throat met her shoulder.

She muffled a high groan of pain and arousal both, then pulled his head to the side and returned the favour with interest, tongue laving his skin to savour that lurid taste she so liked. He groaned, shuddering to a stop for a moment.

Then, bracing himself again the wall with his hands, he redoubled his efforts, slamming her painfully against the boards until she thought she'd be a mess of bruises on the morrow.

He was snarling under his breath, every muscle of his back working under her hands. She dug her nails in a little to encourage him. It worked.

With a low, predatory growl, he curled one arm around her to pull her down onto his cock as far as she could go, and spilled himself inside her. He twitched and sucked in a couple of sharp, uneven breaths.

She closed her eyes, tightened herself around him, and swan-dove off the cliff's edge of her own climax. Light burst behind her eyelids and coursed through her body. Her veins were full of magic and lightning.

He let her down to the floor, not very gently. She sat there, limp as a doll, shivering.

Looking down at her, he cleaned himself off and reassembled his armour around himself. Then he smirked. Then he turned around, walked away, and left her there.

She sighed and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she was awake, and her whole body throbbed with dissatisfaction. The arousal was real, but the climax hadn't been.

She'd have the same dream again in a couple of days, she felt sure. She shouldn't, but she would. He wouldn't leave her alone. Even in death.

All she could do was try to outlast him.

 

x

 

Cid was watching her from across the fire with thoughtful eyes.

She blushed faintly, and hoped she hadn't said anything embarrassing in her sleep. Or done anything. Or made any... noises.

"Is it my turn to watch?" she asked, breaking the silence as she pulled her blankets up around her shoulders. The night was warm enough, even without the fire, but she felt uncomfortably bare and vulnerable.

He shrugged. "Almost. I ain't tired yet, though, so if you want to snooze a while longer, you do that."

She thought about it for a brief moment, then decided against it with a little shudder. No more dreaming for tonight. She'd had as much of that as she could take for now. "No, I'm good," she said. "I'll watch. You should rest."

Shrugging again, he dug a worn manual out of his bag and turned so that the firelight illuminated the pages. The ever-present bedraggled cigarette rolled slowly between his teeth as he read.

It was something of a problem for her. Her nethers were screaming silently for attention, but she couldn't do anything about them with him right there and wide awake. She couldn't exactly walk off to find somewhere more private, either; these woods were full of fanged things and stinging plants. With her luck, she'd just end up with a rash on her bottom and a bunch of cuts and bruises.

So there was nothing she could do, but she also couldn't do nothing. It was too insistent, too desperate.

Squirming, she pressed her thighs together as hard as she could, shuddering a little as the pressure made it even more intense. She wanted to writhe. She wanted to put her hands down her shorts and hunch over and rub until things quieted down.

At this rate, she'd lose her mind by morning.

"Hey," said Cid, sharp eyes gleaming over the edge of his book. "You all right over here?"

Tifa opened her mouth to say  _ Yes, I'm fine _ and a moan came out instead.

Immediately, she blushed scarlet, but even the embarrassment didn't help push the need down. It just made it even worse. Loz had humiliated her in the dreams, too, and it had had the same effect. Maybe some part of her liked it. That was embarrassing on an even deeper level, if so.

Cid's brow wrinkled and furrowed. "What's the matter with you?" he asked.

She tried to answer him. She really did. She'd just reached the end of her endurance. Clenching her teeth, she doubled over slightly, pressed her hands to her lower abdomen, and moaned again.

"Cramps?" Cid guessed, a hint of sadistic amusement in his voice.

Wordlessly, she shook her head, her breath coming hard and short. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for relief.

His book closed with a muffled  _ thwup _ and hit the ground beside his stump a moment before he stood up and circled the fire to reach her. She heard him kneel beside her, and guessed he was probably looking into her face to try and figure out what the matter was.

Cid cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh, should I wake someone up to help you?" he tried. "I ain't sure what's wrong with you, but I'm pretty sure I don't know how to fix it."

That... wasn't necessarily true, she realized, but managed to clamp her teeth shut before she said anything she'd regret. By the stars, it was hard, though. She felt almost drugged. Her body wouldn't listen to her. Her thoughts were dim and quiet next to the gnawing rage of her hunger.

Concerned, Cid reached up and pressed a cool, work-roughened hand to her forehead to check for fever. An innocent touch, brisk and perfunctory.

She leaned into it, unable to stop herself. It felt so good to be touched, even if he didn't mean anything helpful by it. She wanted more. His calluses made her skin tingle, and she thought about how they would feel brushing over her sides, her thighs, her throat.

He went still, cautious and confused.

"I," she gasped, "I want—"

He made a noncommittal sound. "I reckon I know what you want," he said quietly, "but I ain't sure you want it from me."

Though it took tremendous effort, she made herself think about that. Cid was her travelling companion. A friend. She liked him, and respected him, and cared about him, but she hadn't really felt anything... warmer than that for him. Even now, it wasn't really him she was feeling it for, or about.

It wouldn't really be fair to him to ask him to help her with this when it didn't really have anything to do with him. It wouldn't be fair to ask it of anyone.

Taking a deep, careful breath, she managed enough self-control to face him directly. He was only thirty-four years old, but he looked so much older than that. Whether it was due to long hours outside on the hull of his skyward dream, or contact with the chemical he worked with, or something inherited from his family, or something else entirely, his skin was weathered and wrinkled far beyond his years. Freckles dusted his skin everywhere like spackled grime. Some people's freckles enhanced their beauty; Cid's just made him look older and more worn. His yellow hair showed no signs of grey, yet, but she wouldn't have been surprised to see it there.

He looked old enough to be her father. It was hard to remember, sometimes, that he wasn't.

"I can't," she said, then lost the rest. After a moment, she tried again. "You don't have to."

Cid was quiet for a few moments. The cigarette ambled from one side of his mouth to the other, then back, smoke ghosting silently from his parted lips.

She'd never liked the smell of tobacco, but suddenly, she found it intoxicating. Her mouth itched to taste it on his tongue.

He watched her as he thought, eyes following the track of her gaze. He sighed.

"Listen," he said. "You've gotta know that pretty much anybody would be honoured to roll in the hay with you, and that definitely includes me. I ain't saying no, here. I'm not sure this is actually what you want, though, and that's something I kinda  _ need _ to know."

She bit her lip, then closed her eyes for a moment. "Can I tell you a secret?" she whispered.

He nodded, and put a hand solemnly across his heart.

So she told him. All of it. About the fight, and the wild attraction, and the dreams that had trailed in their wake. About how starved for touch she was, and how dissatisfied. She told him everything, and he listened gravely, and when she was done he put a hand on her knee.

She shivered. He noticed.

Carefully, watching her face for her reaction, he slid his hand a few inches up her thigh, thumb trailing along the inside. Big hands. Those calluses felt every bit as good as she'd feverishly imagined a few minutes ago.

Leaning down, she pressed her mouth against his, sweeping her tongue through the aftermath of his cigarette. It was bitter and ugly and chemical and she liked it.

He made a muffled sound like  _ Nnnph _ and slid his hand higher yet, steadily, until he had his hand cupped around her backside beneath her skirt. It was startling how tenderly he touched her. How slow and careful he was. All that rough language and stubble, and he was perhaps the gentlest person ever to have touched her.

That made something in her chest ache with unexpected and sudden depth.

She kissed him slower, harder, pouring herself into him as fast as he could drink her down. He opened her arms, and she slid down off her stump into them until they were both sitting on the ground, an awkward tangle of limbs.

"Come on," he muttered, "we're gonna wake everyone up at this rate. Can you stand?"

It was difficult, but she could, given sufficient incentive. Walking was going to be unpleasant, but she'd manage. She thought of what Cid might do to her once they'd found a more private spot, and shuddered hard enough that her balance wavered.

"Woah," he said, catching her around the back with one arm to steady her. "You've got it pretty bad, huh."

She snorted. That was something of an understatement, but he knew that. Clearly.

After squinting out into the darkness for a minute, he led her northwestwards a bit, to a spot that was still within sight of the camp, but would be hidden from it if anyone sleeping there looked out. If anything attacked, they'd be right there to help, but nobody would get an eyeful. Hopefully.

He went back for their bedrolls, and dumped them on the ground in a squarish sort of shape that would protect them from the stinging vines and creepers.

Then he looked up and met her eyes, and raised one eyebrow. His pants were fairly loose, but she caught the shadow of a respectable bulge in the attenuated firelight. He wanted to help her, he wanted  _ her _ , but he was still waiting for her to say no.

Her legs wobbled. She pressed her thighs together, and managed to stay upright, but it was a near thing.

She wasn't going to say no.

Instead, she let her knees give out like they wanted, and sank to the ground in front of him. He tensed as she reached for the jacket tied around his waist, but made no move to stop her as she undid it and let it drop to the ground. She did the same for the belt underneath, then hooked her fingers into the waistband and pulled his trousers down as slowly and sensually as she could make herself.

Her whole body ached with yearning.

Sliding her palms up the backs of his coarsely haired thighs, she touched the tip of her tongue to his cock. She felt the muscles of his legs twitch and shiver under her hands.

"You don't have to—" he began.

She shook her head, cutting him off. "Just let me do this," she murmured.

He was a little salty on her tongue, a little musky to her nose. They'd all bathed in a river that afternoon, but they'd walked a few more hours after that, and worked up a little sweat. She liked this, too. It was warm and human.

Tilting her head back, she took him deeper in, enjoying the weight of him on her tongue, the breadth of him against the roof of her mouth.

After a minute, he threaded his fingers into her long dark hair and guided her, hips trembling with the effort of holding still.

"Keep this up, and that thing won't be good for much else in a minute," he panted.

Reluctantly, she withdrew. She'd been enjoying that, but there was something else she needed much more. It wouldn't do for him to hit his peak and slump into lassitude this early. Not yet. Not yet.

He knelt in front of her. "Do you mind if I get a little less careful?" he asked. There was a rough edge of strain to his voice. "I ain't gonna hurt you, but..."

"Please," she breathed.

He nodded, satisfied, then gave her a hard push. She fell over onto her back on the blankets, startled but not afraid. He landed atop her a moment later, his full, sweaty weight pressing her into the ground. She could feel the shape of every plant and root and stone under the blankets, and she didn't care.

Drawing a shuddering breath, she clutched at his back and hair, holding him hard against her, twisting her hips frantically in search of what she needed.

"Hold your horses, I'm coming," he muttered, fumbling in the dark between them until the head of his cock pressed against her entrance.

She drove her hips upward, impaling herself on it with a muffled cry. It was overwhelming. The stretch, the slide, the  _ pressure _ . It was everything she'd been starving for, but better because it was real.

Taking his cue from her, he abandoned slow caution. Bracing himself above her on his hands, he drove his cock into her like a piston, fucking her with earnest, hot-eyed fervour.

Tifa's body cried out with ecstatic relief, twisting and writhing beneath him. Her mind was nearly blank. All she knew was the blinding pleasure and the weight of him and the smell of him and the ravenous hunger for more.

He obliged.

It was exactly what she'd needed.  _ He _ was exactly what she'd needed. She thought she might cry out of sheer gratitude.

Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed a series of swift, imprecise kisses to the line of his jaw. Her fingers buried themselves in his short, bristly hair. There wasn't enough to hold onto there, so she spread her hand and cradled the back of his head instead, trying to pull him even closer yet.

He cursed as she brushed the nape of his neck, rhythm stuttering briefly as gooseflesh rose on his arms. She'd found a sensitive spot.

Delighted, she caressed it more deliberately, rubbing the side of her thumb down the long muscular furrow surrounding his the top of his spine. Groaning, he slowed down and pressed her harder into the ground, covering as much of her with himself as he could. He wanted to get closer, too, she realized.

So she sought out his mouth and kissed him again, following his movements so that it wouldn't break. She playfully teased his tongue with hers, inviting him to chase her back. He did.

They broke apart, gasping, when his rhythm sped up again, frantic to the point of erratic.

A root was digging into her back in a way that was really beginning to hurt in an un-fun way. Despite the pleasure she felt everywhere else, that pain made her grimace briefly.

He noticed.

"Here," he said, pulling back and bringing her with him until he was sitting cross-legged and she was straddling him, her legs clamped around his wiry hips. His face was flushed but composed below hers, barely visible in the gloom of the forest. "Better?"

She nodded gratefully. "Yeah."

"Good," he said, and rolled his hips, driving himself up into her with almost as much force as he'd managed in the earlier position.

Tifa sucked in a startled gasp of breath and let it out in a keening moan, as quiet as she could keep it. She was still conscious of their companions slumbering steps away. This wasn't something she felt like explaining to them.

His hands, freed from the burden of supporting his weight, roamed her back. Her spine arched, following the rasp of those calluses against her sensitive, ticklish spots. When he'd had his fill, he grasped her hips just south of her waist and pulled her harder onto him, helping her match his pattern with the strength of his arms.

Little licks of lightning began inside her, starting from somewhere along the inner portion of her clitoris and bolting deeper inwards. She jerked and shivered with each one, feeling the real storm gathering on the horizon. The friction of each thrust seemed to stoke the charge to greater heights of intensity.

Soon, she was going to crash to earth. She yearned to hurl herself from the heights.

"Please," she gasped, begging, "please, please—"

"Tifa," he murmured against her clavicles, pressing incongruously soft kisses along the line of her left one while he slammed into her from below.

He rarely called her by name. If there was more than one "girl" or "woman" present, he generally used her last name. Her given name had become a somewhat more common occurrence of the years, but it was still pretty damn rare.

Hearing it now made her tremble. It was so... tender, from his mouth. Like he'd savoured the sound of it on its way out into the air. Like he was trying to show her something he didn't really have the words for.

Hard-pressed to catch his breath now, he sagged backwards onto his elbows, then his back, while she leaned over him, now on top.

That gave her a good deal more control over the proceedings than she'd had before, and she used it ruthlessly, grinding herself down on him with slow but thorough intent. A little sweat ran down her belly to vanish into the hair at the juncture of her thighs. He was sweating too, jaw clenched hard enough to make a little muscle near the back jump fitfully.

Given room to explore a new frontier, so to speak, Cid's hands came up to frame and gather her breasts. His thumbs whispered over her nipples, then pinched them hard against his fingers.

Despite all her desperate, deliberate self-control, a short, sharp cry escaped her into the soft velvety night. She seized her lower lip in her teeth to prevent an encore, and just in time: he leaned up on his elbows and took one of her nipples in his mouth, grazing it with his teeth as his tongue laved it.

Shuddering, she clutched his head against her. His stubble abraded her chest, his hair tickled her arms, and she wanted more of all of it. She didn't ever want to stop.

"Your dreams," he said when she gave him room to breathe again. "What are they like?"

"This," she said, "but crueller. You're so much... kinder. You don't want to humiliate me."

He made a thoughtful humming sound in his throat, then ran his hands down her back to fill them with her behind. "Is that a good thing, or...?"

She thought about that as best she could through the screaming fog of need filling her mind. On the surface, that didn't seem like it ought to be a hard question. Of course it was a good thing that he was kinder, that he cared about her pleasure and her wishes. Of course it was a good thing that he didn't get off on seeing her helpless and pathetic.

It should have been an easy answer.

"I don't know," she gasped instead.

"Would you like it if I were nasty to you?" he asked. His voice sounded normal, aside from his breath coming a little hard, but there was a strange edge to it she didn't recognize. "I could, if you wanted."

"I don't— know—" she said again, but she did know, now. She knew by her response. Thinking about him biting her, insulting her,  _ using _ her as if he had the right, made something inside her howl with starved yearning. Every inch of her skin was rippling up into gooseflesh as she pictured it. She tightened on him viciously, and he groaned.

His fingers dug hard into her hips. He was already going about as hard as he physically could, she knew, but it still somehow wasn't enough.

"Answer the damn question," he hissed. "Do you want it?"

There was no actual anger in it. No contempt. The semblance of them had been put there deliberately, to gauge her reaction. That seemed perfectly clear to her, in that crystalline moment of understanding on the edge of the precipice.

"Yes," she said miserably. The misery was a semblance, too, performative rather than real, but it felt so good to lower herself that way. To capitulate to the chains he was offering her. Knots she hadn't realized were there began to loosen in her muscles, and a warmth flooded slowly through her veins.

He grinned, and in the darkness it was almost exactly the grin she'd been looking for. A flash of white teeth, a glint of hard, hungry eyes in the darkness.

"Good," he said, almost a snarl. "On your knees, then."

She obeyed with deliberate slowness, as if embarrassed or afraid. In lieu of being able to slap her, as that would make too much instantly recognizable noise, he pinched the flesh of her buttock and twisted it viciously.

"Hurry up," he hissed.

Shaking with excitement and only half-feigned fear, she arranged herself according to his orders, knees spread slightly to lower her and head hanging down so that her hair pooled on the blankets. He spent a moment just savouring the moment of anticipation, caressing her buttocks and running his thumb up and down the length of her wet slit.

She pushed her behind back a bit towards him, offering and inviting.

Giving a faint, satisfied grunt, he seized her hips in his hands and drove his cock into her without mercy. His balls slapped faintly against her clitoris and mound, and she jerked.

"So this is what you wanted," he mused out loud, for her benefit. "For some grimy jerk to put you down and use you. I thought you were better than that."

Heat rising in her cheeks, she hung her head lower, letting the shame drive her even higher.

"Nothing to say?" he noted. "I suppose there wouldn't be. Not really any excuse you can make for wanting something as messed up as this. You just gotta take— your— lumps—"

He thrust like a piston on each of the last three words, hammering her insides until she felt sure she'd be bruised from the inside out on the morrow. She was so close to her climax that it was actually painful, exquisitely so.

"How's it feel," he murmured from right behind her ear, body curved over her as he fucked her with relentless, contemptuous force, "to be stuffed to the brim with some random old guy's dick? To want it so badly you'd take it from anyone? You disgusting slut."

Planting one broad hand between her shoulder blades, he pushed her whole torso down into the blanket while holding her hips up for continued use. He kept his hand there, pressing her face into the ground.

Then he gathered up some of the wetness between them with his fingers and smeared it around her other entrance, pushing his fingers inside to spread it where it was needed.

She jerked, alarmed, and tried to move, but he held her there. If she really tried, she could dislodge him, she knew. It would end this, though, and she didn't want that. She could say no, too, but that would also end it.

Her options were to put a stop to things right then and there... or let him continue with what he meant to do.

"Don't tell me you don't want it," he said, methodically spreading her open with his fingers, massaging the ring of muscle into softness. "I see through you. It's going to hurt, and you'll love every second of it, won't you."

Tears sprang into her eyes. He was right. It was hard to admit to herself, even as far gone as she was, but he was right. She did want him to hurt her. She did want him to take his pleasure at her expense and laugh at her while he did.

She wanted him to make her dreams of someone else come true. It wasn't fair, and she would have to apologize a dozen times afterwards, but then... he didn't seem to be performing his role grudgingly. Perhaps he had dreams of his own.

"Ready for this?" he asked. It wasn't a question meant to be answered. Withdrawing from her, he pressed the hot, slick head of his cock against her sphincter. "Try not to scream. We wouldn't want the others waking up to find you on your knees with my dick balls-deep in your asshole, would we?"

Whimpering, she braced herself, clasping both hands over her mouth just in case.

Spreading her cheeks apart with his hands, he slowly, slowly pushed himself into her. Her sphincter convulsed, tightening around him in an attempt to expel him or cut him off, but it was very badly outmatched. He ignored it and kept going until his hips pressed up against her behind.

"There," he said. "Feel that? All the way in. Burns, doesn't it."

It did. She wanted to cry and scream and push it out, but his hands on her hips held her fast.

He gave her all of ten seconds to adjust. Then he pulled all the way out and slammed back in, three times in a row.

The pain was astonishing, bright and hot as summer sunlight. She couldn't seem to get enough of it. Taking a deep breath, she pushed her hips back onto him, impaling herself even as he moved to pull out.

He laughed at her. "Even your asshole is starving for me. Well, you can have as much as you want. Take it all."

With that, he began pounding her, each thrust sending a short throbbing wave of soft-edged heated pain through her. Weeping silently, she pressed her face into the blanket, clutching at it with both hands for support.

He groaned softly. "You have no idea how good this feels," he commented. "I could die happy right here."

Tifa thought she probably could, too. She felt so good now that she'd let it become what she needed it to be. Not ashamed, not really, despite her act. Not guilty. Embarrassed, yes, but embarrassment wasn't a question of morality.

This was strange, and twisted, but it wasn't wrong.

It was the opposite of wrong. It was most right she'd felt in months.

She could feel his sweat dampening her back, and arched up to press it full-length against his belly, savouring the heat and the intimacy of it. He kissed the back of her neck, where her hair parted to fall to the ground, then ran his tongue up the same spot she'd caressed with her thumb earlier.

It had almost the same effect on her. Her elbows buckled a little, and she shivered violently, clenching around him.

He hissed through his teeth. "Not so tight, that hurts."

Sucking in deep breaths, she forced herself to slowly relax until he had room to move again.

"Where do you want me to spill?" he asked. "Your choice."

Blushing, she thought about it. What were her options? Inside her anus, where he was now? Inside her vagina? Her mouth? Those would be dirty, but she understood herself well enough now to know that filth was something her inner animal liked very much. On her back? On her face? In her hands?

"You've got about ten seconds to decide," he informed her, voice tight with effort. "Then I'm shooting wherever I damn well feel like."

She turned her head as far as she could and looked over her shoulder at him. Then she very deliberately pressed her lips together and maintained her silence.

His eyes widened briefly, then narrowed in fierce delight. "You called it. No complaints."

She didn't intend to offer any. Even if she had, she didn't think she could: the door to her climax was finally swinging open over the abyss. Her anus was on fire, she was covered in sweat that didn't all belong to her, she was kneeling on a blanket in the woods just steps from her comrades being thoroughly, filthily fucked, and Cid was kissing the back of her neck again.

Though she tried her best, she couldn't entirely muffle the long moan that ripped its way out of her throat as her innards began to convulse with lightning pleasure. Her climax moved so slowly, perhaps because she'd held it off for so long. Instead of racing through her, it was marching through like a measured apocalypse, giving her wave after tight, rippling wave of clenched muscles and rapture.

She heard Cid curse above her. Then he pulled away, rolled her unceremoniously over onto her back, and straddled her chest so that his balls rested between her breasts.

Understanding, she opened her mouth and closed her eyes. It was all she could manage from the grips of her climax.

He worked his hand over his member frantically, leaning over to cup his other hand under her neck and lift her head up to meet his cock.

When it was only a couple of inches away, he jerked, and a thick jet of viscous white come hurtled out of him into her waiting mouth. Some of it splattered across the corner of her mouth and nearby cheek. He pulled her head the last couple of inches so she could lick the remnants off the head, and that brought out a few more fitful spurts.

"Swallow," he ordered harshly, trembling atop her.

She made a show of licking her lips, then did.

He cursed again, this streak even bluer than the last, and took a few deep breaths to recover himself.

Then he rolled off her to sit on the blanket beside her and helped her sit up at his side. For a few minutes, they just leaned against each other and breathed, waiting for their heartbeats to slow down. His fingers found hers and twined through them, and she squeezed his hand back.

"Thank you," she said, finally, when she was fairly sure she'd put herself back together. The starving demon inside her was sated, and had quieted down. The peace was a pleasure all its own. "For helping me with this."

He snorted. "Are you kidding? Best sex I've had in years. Maybe ever. It was my honour."

She laughed softly and tucked her head under his chin. He let go of her hand and wrapped his arms around her, gently rubbing up and down her spine with his thumb. With the arousal damped down, it no longer sent bolts of sensation down to her nethers; it just felt nice.  _ Really _ nice.

"If we stay out here naked in the dark much longer, we're going to catch a cold," he murmured. "And get eaten alive by bugs, probably. We should go back."

They should. He was talking sense, and she knew it. She was so comfortable, though, nestled in his arms under the muted canopy of stars. She didn't want to let it end.

"All right," she said anyway, because he was right.

Carefully, very quietly, they gathered up their bedrolls and tiptoed back to camp. Everyone looked to still be asleep, but she had suspicions about Yuffie and Cait Sith. Yuffie slept very lightly, and Tifa wasn't entirely convinced that Cait Sith slept, though it was careful to keep up the pretense if it didn't.

If they asked, she'd deal with the awkward explanation then. Hopefully, they would opt for prudence and keep it to themselves. She could hope, at least.

Her bedroll was at the opposite side of the fire from Cid's. That was regrettable. Perhaps she could have snuggled up to him a little while longer and passed it off as her seeking warmth in her sleep.

She wondered if her dreams would keep coming. If they did, she might need this again. Would Cid be amenable, if she asked for a repeat performance?

Catching his wink from across the flames, she thought he would be. That cheered her.

No longer dreading her dreams, she closed her eyes and let sleep claim her. Her dreams could do what they would. She'd deal with the after effects one way or another.

Her last thought before she slipped under was that she could still feel a tingling on the back of her neck where his lips had been.

**X**


End file.
